Counting Stars: Part 1
The rising sun coloured the prairies with a soft, rosy glow. The grass turned golden, shimmering as the wind stroked it. A kingsnake curled lethargically out of its burrow, twisting its sleek, brown coils in the morning light–only to dart back underground as it felt the earth resonate with hooves.
Cloud Runner beat his heels on his pony’s flanks, stirring the spirited creature on. He rode at the head of the party, alongside his younger brother, Counting Stars. Cloud Runner kept a close eye on him; it was not that he doubted Counting Stars’s abilities, but his brother was small, finely-built, and Cloud Runner was not sure that his stamina was up to a hunt of this proportion.
The herd they followed was the largest they had ever come across. The snorting buffalo had been sighted a week earlier by one of his cousins, the beautiful Call of the Eagle. She had called and beckoned in her awe, and the rest of the camp came running. They had stood on the summit of a small bluff and watched reverently as the buffalo wheeled around the plains, stirring up clouds of swirling dust. The tribe had been struggling through some hard times; this was the sign they had needed and prayed for. Their Great Spirit had not deserted them after all.
Cloud Runner shifted his grip on the spear in his hand, running his thumb along the writing etched into its wooden shaft. Hunt Wisely, my Son, with your Spirit and your Heart, not your Head. A smile touched his lips as he recited the axiom under his breath. His father had been as practical as a man could be, but he had never allowed this to impede his belief in the Spirit. For a man whose Head had ruled most of his actions, his father had been very quick to point out the disadvantages of such a lifestyle.
Counting Stars’s hair, fashioned into two tight plaits, flew out behind him as he cantered easily beside his elder brother. Cloud Runner watched him in admiration; despite his delicate stature, his brother was certainly a fine horseman. It was as though he and his horse were one, sharing the same senses and desires. And for all Cloud Runner knew, they might well have been. Even as a child, Counting Stars had always been quiet and meditative, sitting and daydreaming whilst Cloud Runner and the other children played, laughing and screaming amongst the tipis. He was an enigma to his peers, and even to his family. Often their father had gone searching in the night, only to find Counting Stars stretched out on the soft prairie grass, staring into the sky, his eyes reflecting the shining patterns of their ancestors.
Cloud Runner, on the other hand, had been as troublesome a child as his poor mother could cope with. Leaving the tipi before dawn every morning and sneaking out of camp with a select group of friends, he had been the bane of his parents’ lives for a good twelve years. Yet they could not fault his unfailing spirit; his sheer energy was a source of inspiration for many youngsters who might otherwise had grown into idle, insipid young men. With a mixture of frustration and admiration, his father had named him Cloud Runner, for he was as unpredictable as his namesakes, and could run as quickly as they streamed across the sky in a storm.
They were nearing the summit of a gentle slope when Counting Stars raised a hand. Cloud Runner stopped his horse obediently–his brother had always had an instinct for these things, and Cloud Runner never doubted Counting Stars’s phenomenal senses.
“They’re close,” Counting Stars said. He put a finger to his lips and pointed over the brow of the hill.
Cloud Runner nodded and slipped off his horse. He pulled down the buffalo pelt draped over her back. She twisted her neck and regarded him steadily with her large, liquid eyes.
“Woah, Zizuka,” he whispered. “I must go. You stay with Counting Stars.” She turned her head away. There was no need for Cloud Runner to hand her reins to his brother; she knew what was expected of her, and would stay with him throughout the chase. Cloud Runner, on the other hand, had a different task.
He swung the heavy buffalo pelt over his shoulders, tying it securely in place with leather thongs criss-crossing his bare chest. Then he pulled up the head and tied another thong under his chin to make sure it wouldn’t fall down and betray him. Behind him, two other young men–Eye of the Snake and Wolf’s Brother–were preparing themselves the same way. When Cloud Runner had finished, he checked that the others were ready. Eye of the Snake nodded confidently to him, but Wolf’s Brother was biting his lip nervously. He was the youngest of the three, even younger than Counting Stars, and this was his first time as a Buffalo-runner. When he realised Cloud Runner was watching him, he stopped nibbling at his lip and stood up straighter, puffing out his chest. Cloud Runner smiled at him, and Wolf’s Brother attempted a smile in return, though it was a bit watery around the edges in Cloud Runner’s opinion.
“We stay together,” Cloud Runner told the two men for the umpteenth time. “Do not get separated. We run straight for the river.”
Eye of the Snake frowned and nodded impatiently. Wolf’s Brother started biting his lip again.
“Let us go.”
Cloud Runner started up the hill, but Counting Stars hailed him from behind. “Good luck, brother.”
Cloud Runner raised a hand in acknowledgement. “And you, little brother. Hunt wisely. With your Spirit and your Heart-”
“-Not your Head,” Counting Stars finished, and grinned. “Do not worry. I will take a Buffalo today, the likes of which you have never seen.”
“I am sure of it.” With another wave, Cloud Runner, Eye of the Snake and Wolf’s Brother turned and trod stealthily up to the summit of the hill. They kept low, so that when they appeared over the brink the Buffalo would not panic. At least, that was the plan. Wolf’s Brother reached the top first, in a half-crouch. But as Cloud Runner came up behind, Wolf’s Brother straightened up, staring.
“Be low!” Cloud Runner hissed angrily. “I told you to stay-”
Then he too reached the summit, and stood upright, gaping.
Below them, spread out on the plain through which the river curved majestically like a snake through the grass, the buffalo were lying. The majority of the herd had vanished, though two days before the last scouts had confirmed that the buffalo looked to be staying by the river. Those left behind were scattered about on the grass, each surrounded by a writhing, buzzing mass of flies. Dead. The hunters on the other side of the river, who had been waiting for the Buffalo-runners to lead the herd in a frenzied rush into the water, were milling about uncertainly on the opposite bank. There looked to be about thirty dead Buffalo decorating the plain in a morbid arrangement.
“What happened?” Wolf’s Brother breathed. “Who killed them?”
Cloud Runner didn’t answer; he hardly even heard the question. Stumbling down the slope, he approached the nearest buffalo at a loping run.
The beast lay on its side. It looked to have died a day ago at least. Its eyes had already disappeared, pecked out by birds and doubtless giving them a tasty meal. The side of its neck was a dark tangle of fur and blood, dry and clotted. Around the wound the flies feasted.
Cloud Runner stared at the corpse in disbelief, wrinkling his nose at the smell of decay that was already pervading the body. He knelt down and, twisting his mouth in disgust, waved the flies away from the wound. They buzzed angrily at this interruption, circled his head in a crazed loop and returning to their meal. Cloud Runner persisted. He gently parted the matted fur and inspected the wound beneath.
A tiny hole. It must have penetrated a major artery, for the blood had gushed forth when the injury was fresh. A killing shot. And a shot it was–a rifle shot. A shot from a white man’s gun.
Cloud Runner straightened. He had seen all he needed to.
Wolf Brother came to stand beside him, looking down in puzzlement at the dead buffalo. “What was it?”
“White men have been here.”
Cloud Runner turned, and saw that as he had been inspecting the wound Counting Stars had trotted quietly up behind him, and was now looming over them on his horse. Zizuka stood behind, picking up her hooves nervously and flaring her nostrils as she caught the smell of rotting flesh.
Cloud Runner looked up at his brother. “Yes,” he said. “White men with their guns. And they have killed our herd!”
“It is not so bad that they have killed them,” Counting Stars replied, dismounting, “but that they have left their kills here to rot in the sun. If they had taken them, and used the flesh for food, the pelts for warmth, the tails and the teeth for decorations, it would not be so bad.”
“They killed what they did not need,” Cloud Runner agreed. “They have wasted the lives of these buffalo.”
“They have upset the balance of Nature,” Counting Stars concluded quietly. “They should not have done this. It will bring bad things. Not only upon them, but everyone.”
Cloud Runner looked at his brother sharply–his tone had turned dreamy, his eyes inward. He would become like this at times, as though detached from the world, viewing it from somewhere far away that nobody else could go. Or else viewing another world from this one. Cloud runner could never decide which.
“What do you mean?” he asked Counting Stars. His brother didn’t answer, but walked over to another buffalo lying near the first. He knelt beside it, put out a hand, and stroked the silky bridge of the nose.
The buffalo let out a tremendous moan, a sound that assaulted the ears and froze the insides for a moment. Counting Stars jumped and started to get up, trying to back away. But the buffalo heaved itself up, lurching from side to side. Its snout swung round, striking Counting Stars’s head and knocking him sideways. Then it staggered forward a few steps, let out another dying cry, and fell heavily, forming a brown mound on the golden grass. It gave one final shudder, and was still.
Cloud Runner ran to where Counting Stars was lying, dazed, on the ground.
“Little brother! Are you all right?” He raised the back of Counting Stars’s head and grasped his arm. Counting Stars looked up at him with wide eyes. Cloud Runner started at the sight of them–they were brimming with a primal fear. “Counting Stars? Are you-”
Counting Stars let out a yell and pushed Cloud Runner away with all his might. Taken by surprise, Cloud Runner fell back. Counting Stars staggered upright and ran to where the buffalo lay, now stone dead. He stood over it for a moment, swaying, as Cloud Runner got to his feet.
“What-”
But Cloud Runner did not get to finish his question. For Counting Stars’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled into a heap on the ground.
#
“What did you do to him?” Three Moons wailed as Cloud Runner stepped through the flap of the tipi, holding his brother’s limp form in his arms. He bit back an angry retort–his mother always assumed that he was to blame for any mishap.
“I did nothing, mother! There was a buffalo, and Counting Stars-”
“Do not blame poor Counting Stars!” his mother snapped, rushing forward and ushering Cloud Runner to lay his brother down on a bed of pelts. Cloud Runner obeyed, frowning.
“I’m not blaming him, mother. I’m trying to tell you what happened. There was a buffalo–we thought it was dead–and Counting Stars went to touch it. It wasn’t dead–it got up and knocked him down.”
“Knocked him down!” his mother exclaimed, fussing over Counting Stars’s unresponsive form. “Hard?”
“That’s the strange thing, mother–it wasn’t very hard. He should have been fine, but-”
“You’re always teasing him about his weight!” Three Moons cut in. “I won’t have it! He may be small, but he’s got as much spirit as you do!”
Cloud Runner sighed. Counting Stars had always been his mother’s favourite, and since their father had died a year ago she had fawned on him more than ever.
“I’m not disputing that, mother. Please, just be quiet and let me tell you what happened!”
Three Moons rounded on him. “Don’t you tell me to be quiet, young Cloud Runner! I am your mother–I demand respect!”
“Mother, please!”
Three Moons must have heard the genuine distress in Cloud Runner’s voice, for she pinched her mouth shut.
Cloud Runner took a deep breath. “The buffalo knocked him down. I went to help him, but he pushed me away and got up himself.”
Three Moons looked proud.
“He got up,” Cloud Runner repeated, “and went back over to the buffalo–it had died by then–and he was just standing over it, looking at it. And then he… he just… fell. Like that. And he’s been like this since then. All the way back.”
Three Moons looked down at her youngest son, and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “All the way back,” she repeated. “He just fell.”
“Yes,” said Cloud Runner. “Just… straight down. It was strange, mother. I don’t know why it would happen.”
She glanced at him anxiously, then back to Counting Stars. Oddly, he did not look pale or drawn. If anything, he looked more healthy than usual: his cheeks shone with a rosy glow, and his breathing was deep, strong, and even. “You must fetch Tumbling River,” Three Moons told Cloud Runner. “He will help us.”
Cloud Runner had anticipated this, and was already halfway out of the tipi when his mother spoke again. “I heard shouting,” she said. “I heard them shouting that the buffalo were already dead when the hunters arrived. I heard they were killed by the white men.” She looked at him pleadingly, as though begging him to deny it.
Cloud Runner did not have to answer her; his expression told her that the story was true. She gave a strangled cry, and waved him away.
#
Cloud Runner stood uneasily outside his family’s tipi and listened to Tumbling River’s sing-song voice as he chanted over Counting Stars. The rest of the tribe was gathered a respectful distance behind him, the women wringing their hands and whispering prayers to the Great Spirit, the men watching and listening, eyes weighted with anxiety and bewilderment. The buffalo’s demise at the hands of the white men had been a shock, and now this alien ailment afflicting the young Counting Stars seemed to be another bad omen. What would happen next? They hoped that Tumbling River’s command of the spirit-world and his closeness to the Great Spirit would save the boy, and perhaps save them from any further evil consequences.
The tribe’s chief, Wind on the Rocks, stood a little closer, arms folded, face grim.
After a long, tense time, the door-flap of the tipi lifted and Tumbling River unfolded from the darkness inside. He was a huge man, powerfully built, muscles sharply defined all over his body. His black hair fell down his back and over his shoulders in thick plaits, and three feathers crowned his head. Around his biceps and thighs were tied loops of leather, from which swung various beads and trinkets, carved from bone. They clicked together as he moved.
Usually, the wise-man’s face was open and friendly, his dark eyes possessing a soft glow that made everyone around him feel at ease. Now, however, he kept his eyes down as he walked away from the tipi. As he passed Cloud Runner, he drew a hand across his brow and muttered something under his breath.
Cloud Runner hurried after him. “How is he?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. “Could you help him?”
Tumbling River met his eyes. “I am sorry, Cloud Runner. Your brother is just the same. I used all my powers, and prayed all the while to the Great Spirit, but I could not wake him up.” He glanced round at the rest of the tribe, who were listening silently. “I… I do not wish to make you more anxious, Cloud Runner, but I fear that your brother has been possessed by a spirit.”
Cloud Runner swallowed. “What kind of spirit? A good spirit, or a bad one?”
Tumbling River looked apologetic. “Spirits are not good or bad,” he explained. “They are as different as you or I or Wind on the Rocks. Spirits have only one goal. When they achieve that goal, they leave and they never return.”
“The spirit that is in my brother, what does it want?” Cloud Runner asked urgently.
“I do not know,” Tumbling River admitted. “But it is angry. I felt its anger like the heat from a fire.”
“Can you make it leave?” Wind on the Rocks stepped forward. “Can you chase it away?”
Tumbling River shook his head. “I cannot make it leave unless I know what it wants. And I do not know. I tried to find out, but it is a tricksome spirit, and it hides its intentions from me.”
Cloud Runner found that his throat had gone very dry. His little brother, his little Counting Stars, invaded by a wrathful spirit? It was like a nightmare. “So what do we do?” he asked. “Surely there is something. How can we wake Counting Stars?”
“He will wake when the spirit wants him to wake. It commands him now. We can do nothing.”
“But there must be something!”
“Cloud Runner,” Wind on the Rocks warned. “Tumbling River is tired. Do not pester him.”
“But my brother- We can’t just sit here and wait! I must do something!”
Wind on the Rocks sighed. “That is the trouble with you, Cloud Runner. You are never content to wait. You must always be doing something.”
Cloud Runner felt himself getting angry with his chief. He suppressed his urge to shout, managed to produce a curt nod, and stalked away from the group. His hands were clenched tightly by his sides. He felt so helpless. He simply could not accept that there was nothing he could do to help his brother. There was always something to be done. He just had to find out what it was.
To be continued…
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Genres: Fantasy, Fiction, legend, myth. Authors: Jess Hyslop. Form: Short Story. Length: 3000 words. Editor who accepted this story: K.E. Abel.
Author Bio
Jess Hyslop is a young British writer of fantasy and science fiction.
Abandoned Towers Content: Counting Stars-Part 2 Counting Stars: Part 1
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